


A Problematic Loyalty

by alocalband



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-12 21:52:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alocalband/pseuds/alocalband
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem isn’t that Stiles is stubborn. The problem is that people keep hitting on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Problematic Loyalty

**Author's Note:**

> Just thought I'd clean out my drafts a bit before the premiere. I have a 40k beast that will hopefully be up by tomorrow, but figured I'd get this bit of fluff out in the meantime.

The problem isn’t that Stiles is stubborn. The problem is that people keep hitting on him.

He would be absolutely _fine_ just hibernating inside of his little crush the way he did all those years with Lydia, and then eventually getting the fuck over it once the thing’s played itself out, except that this time around _people keep asking him out_. Like, on dates.

He’s polite, of course. He tells them thanks but no thanks while reigning in his _have I entered the fucking mirror-verse?_ face. And then he spends long periods of time staring at himself in any available reflective surface trying to figure out what exactly changed that would suddenly start bringing all the boys to the yard. And the girls. Mostly girls, actually. Which is... whatever. He’s not going to think about that part.

Maybe it’s a love spell. That seems more plausible than him suddenly leveling up in attractiveness for no apparent reason.

Or maybe it’s because he’s a senior now? Except that so is Greenberg and no one’s exactly throwing themselves at that guy’s feet. Which is kind of what’s happening to Stiles right now. People are practically throwing themselves at him. And certain _other_ people are starting to notice that he keeps turning everyone down.

So the problem isn’t that Stiles is ruthlessly stubborn in holding a torch for someone who will never love him back. He’s totally cool with that part. It’s that everyone else keeps trying to get him to waver in his devotion, and now his friends are asking questions that he really doesn’t want to answer. Questions like, “Okay, so who is it?”

Stiles blinks dumbly at Scott for several seconds, before he remembers to swallow the masticated french fries currently in his mouth and respond with an eloquent, “Huh?”

Scott rolls his eyes in that way where it’s kind of like he’s rolling his whole body. That’s how intense Scott’s _I don’t have time for your shit, Stiles_ eye rolls are. “Whoever you’re pining for now. I know you’re over Lydia.”

“What makes you think I--”

Scott levels an unimpressed look at him, and Stiles snaps his mouth shut mid-sentence. “Ugh. Fine. You are the worst, by the way. Just so we’re clear. And I’m not telling you who it is, because I love you too much to do that to you.”

Scott frowns, bemused. “Uh. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“No but seriously, who is it?”

Stiles thunks his forehead down onto the table, barely missing his lunch tray. “You don’t know him?”

“Him?”

“Or her. They. Them.”

“So it’s a dude.”

“Fuck. Okay, yes. A dude that you _do not know_.”

“So it’s a dude that I know.”

Stiles lifts his head just enough so that he can glare at Scott, who smirks goofily back at him.

“If I tell you, will you promise not to yell at me?”

“Oh crap, it’s Derek, isn’t it?”

Stiles snaps his head up, eyes wide, only to immediately realize that this was the wrong response, because apparently that had been Scott’s idea of a joke? And now it is decidedly not a joke.

Scott’s face does this glacially paced transition from good humor to shock and awe that would be hilarious on any other day of the week, until about a full minute of silence later he’s just all out gaping.

Stiles scrubs a hand over his face and sighs. “Well. You’re not yelling.”

Scott seems to snap out of it and shakes his head. “I’m not going to yell at you, man.”

“Are you going to _quietly_ judge my life choices then? That might actually be worse.”

“No,” Scott says solemnly. “I’m going to help you.”

Stiles gulps. “Oh God.”

“We are going to get you laid before you graduate.”

“Oh _God_.”

Scott grins. Stiles sends a pleading look down at his chicken strips and prays for a swift death.

Thankfully, nothing much comes of Scott’s declaration. Instead, what happens is people keep trying to get into Stiles’ pants for reasons yet to be explained to him, and on one such occasion Derek happens to be there.

Okay, so the thing is, Katie is pretty cool usually? Stiles did a science fair project with her back in middle school that got them an honorable mention, and one time at a party sophomore year she walked in on him peeing because he was drunk and forgot to lock the bathroom door and she totally didn’t tell anyone. Katie is A-okay in Stiles’ book.

Which is why he doesn’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late.

They’re all on what amounts to a stakeout, but could arguably be described as them just hanging out at Joe’s Burger Shack on a Friday night while waiting for whatever supernatural baddie is out to get them this week to show up for his dishwashing shift. It’s all very _not exciting in the least_ , and Stiles takes a moment while stuffing a double bacon cheeseburger into his face to contemplate just how much of the boring shit TV shows about this stuff must have to cut out.

Scott and Boyd are arguing the merits of Maguire Spiderman versus Garfield Spiderman while Derek watches the diner entrance like a hawk, eating a french fry every fifteen seconds exactly like a damn metronome, like he’s actually counting in his head between each bite and thinks this somehow makes him look inconspicuous.

Katie comes in with some friends and the group grabs the next table over, where Katie immediately turns around in her chair to face Stiles and start up a conversation.

Stiles doesn’t actually think anything of this. Is, in fact, grateful to have someone to talk to while he waits around for this newest adventure in supernatural mediocrity to be over with already. And then suddenly Katie’s hand is on his thigh.

Katie’s _hand_. Is on his _thigh_.

Her long fingers are splayed out over the worn denim, the tips of her index and middle resting just close enough to his dick that he loses his breath for a split second. This is the most forward anyone’s ever been with him, and he has no clue how to get out of the situation without looking like an asshole. And Katie is awesome. Katie is smart and likes forty-year-old horror movies and her hair does this swoopy thing that Stiles doesn’t really get the logistics of but that makes her look perpetually windswept, and he really, really doesn’t want to be an asshole to her.

This is honestly not a position he ever thought he’d find himself in, so he feels like his lack of contingency plans here should be excused.

“Hey man, not cool.” Scott’s admonishing tone directed at him is not at all what Stiles is expecting to happen next. He turns his head to raise a questioning eyebrow at his best friend, only to find said best friend turning to Katie with an apologetic look and saying, “Sorry, I don’t know why he didn’t say something, but uh, he’s kind of taken.”

Katie withdraws her hand with a shrug, reaching with her other arm for the milkshake the waitress just set down in front of her. “No big. Sorry, Stiles. Didn’t mean to bulldoze you or anything.”

“No. Uh-- _I’m_... sorry?” Stiles does not know what just happened here, but Katie is turning back around in her chair away from him, and Scott is making that face where he thinks he just did something that deserves a standing ovation, and when Stiles pivots back towards his group of stakeout buddies, Derek has abandoned his french fry metronome routine in favor of glaring daggers at Stiles’ shoulder.

 _What the hell_ , Stiles mouths to Scott.

Scott grins, then turns to Boyd and says, “They have air hockey next door.”

Stiles blinks.

Boyd nods, considering. “Loser pays for dinner?”

And that’s how Stiles ends up having dinner at a restaurant alone with Derek Hale. Who is still eyeing Stiles’ shoulder like it was what lit the match.

Stiles clears his throat awkwardly and resolves to finish his burger and get the hell out of there as quickly as possible, half-baked stakeouts be damned. But then Derek grits out a stilted sounding, “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

“What? I’m not.”

“But you’re ‘taken.’”

“Oh, right. Well. Sort of? In a manner of speaking. I’m not going to go out with anyone else, so I guess yes. I am officially off the market. I wish Facebook had a relationship status for ‘technically single but don’t bother because I’m already married in my head.’”

Derek finally turns back to his plate, frowning, and says with his usual dryness, “Mazeltov.”

Stiles snorts and then stuffs a handful of fries into his mouth. “Save your congrats, dude. I have apparently become catnip for everyone _but_ the object of my affections. It’s like the beginning of a horrible romcom, except without the necessary rom.”

“Condolences then?”

Stiles bites back laughter. “Yeah, that’s probably a little more appropriate.”

Derek starts eating again, slow and methodical. “Is this a running theme in your life? Loyalty to the point of idiocy?”

“If it weren’t, I don’t think either of us would be sitting here right now.”

Derek tilts his head to the side as if to say, _fair point_. “Well you might want to make an exception in this regard. That girl seemed to really like you. Who knows when the next case of head trauma will manifest in just the right way for that to happen again.”

Stiles scowls and throws a fry at Derek’s head. “I will have you know that for some inexplicable reason everyone and their moms has decided lately that they wanna get all up on this. I don’t know if Scott slipped something into the water supply or what, but if I weren’t such a moron about falling in love with all the wrong people, I could totally have my pick of dates to the sock hop.”

Derek rolls his eyes and picks at his food. Stiles takes the opportunity to finish off his burger. The quiet feels oddly comfortable, and Stiles thinks that anyone on the outside looking in would probably assume that this was a date and that it was going fairly well.

Of course, the moment he realizes this he gets the urge to bolt. He starts to fidget in his seat, eyes darting around the diner, knee jiggling up and down so hard at one point it hits the table and sends Boyd’s leftovers scattering everywhere.

Derek’s brow furrows. “Is something wrong?”

Stiles bites his lip and shakes his head, at a loss. He feels like at any moment he’s going to blurt out something fatally embarrassing. Like the words, _I want to put my face on your face_ , are just going to slip out of his mouth the second he dares open it again, and then possibly everyone within a ten foot radius will instantly fall over dead from secondhand humiliation.

Luckily, Scott and Boyd return just then. Unluckily, Scott is frowning like he’s confused about why Stiles and Derek are still sitting there. “You didn’t tell him?” he asks Stiles.

Stiles chokes. Because, um, what the fuck, Scott? “Are you kidding me right now?” he hisses.

“But I planned it perfectly!” Scott moans, falling into his chair like the world is ending.

“ _You_ planned the stakeout that _I_ suggested,” Derek says, managing to convey disbelief and annoyance in equal measure.

Scott waves him off. “That dishwasher demon guy isn’t coming. I took care of him last night.”

“You what,” Derek says flatly, eyes blazing.

“And I told Isaac to stay home because he kept smirking and Boyd has a better poker face.”

“You what,” Stiles says, just as flat. Screw question marks. Question marks are for situations that aren’t so utterly ridiculous.

“It was the perfect opening. I even gave Katie twenty bucks!” Scott practically wails.

Stiles shakes his head, trying desperately to catch up. “Wait, Katie doesn’t actually like me?”

“Katie’s seen you pee, dude.”

“She _told_?”

“No, _you_ told me.”

“Oh. Right.”

Scott hangs his head and makes a frustrated noise that borders on a growl. “I can’t believe this didn’t work. You used to tell Lydia you were in love with her all the time! Why is Derek so different?”

The whole world sort of freezes at that. Stiles is pretty sure even his heart stops beating. Possibly every heart in the entire diner stops as well. Until a split second later Scott jerks his head up, realizing what’s he’s just said. “Oh crap.”

Stiles stares at Scott and very carefully does not even so much as glance in Derek’s direction. He takes a deep breath and says as calmly as he can manage, “Scott? You’re paying for my burger. And you all can do your wolf run thing home, because I am leaving now. Alone.”

He doesn’t actually expect anyone to come chasing after him, but still feels something ugly twist in his gut when he makes it all the way back home without interruption. He bypasses where his dad is pouring over paperwork at the kitchen table to head straight for his room, slump down onto the foot of the bed and bury his face in his hands with a groan. “ _Fuck_.”

He’s too busy cursing his existence to really pay attention to the sound of the doorbell ringing a couple minutes later, followed by his dad calling up to him, “Stiles? Is there a reason Derek Hale is on my doorstep asking for you?”

Stiles groans even louder and falls back onto the bed with another, emphatic, “ _Fuck_.”

Because seriously. Fuck.

He forces himself to roll off the bed with an ungraceful thud that he’s glad no one’s around to witness, and trudges downstairs to find what would under any other circumstances be a pretty hilarious sight. His dad is making his _what the hell, son?_ eyebrows, and Derek looks like he’s trying so hard not to appear panicked in the face of parental authority that Stiles thinks he might sprain something.

“Well obviously, Dad, Derek is here to borrow my Chem notes. We have a test on Thursday.”

His dad rolls his eyes. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Whatever this is, keep it brief. And then come find me and explain to me why on earth I’m not even a little bit surprised that you two are somehow friends now.”

This _almost_ sounds like an out, but Stiles knows that face. That’s the face of a man who will be interrogating his son over breakfast tomorrow. Awesome.

But Stiles resolves to only think about one crisis at a time, and gestures with an overly dramatic flourish for Derek to follow him back upstairs.

Once in his bedroom, Stiles shuts the door and turns to give Derek the stink eye. “While I appreciate you wanting to have this utterly humiliating conversation face to face instead of over the phone or, like, through Scott or something a little less horrifying, you couldn’t have snuck in through my window? Lurked in the shadows of the boys locker room and cornered me at school? You chose _now_ , when my dad is clearly home, to start acting like a fully functioning member of society?”

“Well seeing as you’re in love with me, I figured I should start making a good impression on your father now.”

Stiles actually trips while standing still. It’s quite the feat.

Derek sighs, staring hard at the floor. “Stiles. Are you really turning down opportunities to date people your own age because you think you have a crush on me?”

Stiles crosses his arms over his chest and glares. “Wow, way to be as condescending about this as possible. Props, dude. I did not actually realize there were gonna be multiple ways you could be a dick to me right now.”

Derek looks up to glower at him, but hey, at least there’s eye contact now. “I’m not actively trying to be a jerk here.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

“I came over here, didn’t I? After thoroughly reaming Scott, by the way. He says to tell you that he’s sorry and is planning on showing up to first period in his underwear tomorrow as some ridiculous sort of penance.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. He’ll have to remember to text Scott not to do that. “Alright, fine. You came over here. Thank you for the courtesy of breaking my heart in person. Now could we please just get on with it already? I’ve got homework.”

Derek huffs, annoyed. “I did not come here to-- I’m trying to _help_ you, Stiles.”

Stiles blinks slowly. “You’re what?”

“The sooner you realize that you don’t actually have feelings for me, the sooner you can stop turning everyone else down. You should be able to go out with people, be a teenager, enjoy your senior year. This loyalty to a damn crush is foolish and unhealthy.”

“I... _What_?”

“It isn’t real. Whatever you think you’re feeling--“

“Hey, listen, asshole," Stiles erupts, "I know my own mind, okay? And I know my own heart. And I know when I’m fucking in love with someone, got it? So tell me you hate me, tell me you like me but not like that, tell me you’re just not into dick, whatever, but don’t fucking presume to tell me how I feel.”

Derek looks like he just got slapped. Stiles wishes he could be pleased by this, but he’s too busy still being pissed.

“You...” Derek licks his lips and his eyes dart around. If Stiles didn’t know any better he’d say Derek was nervous. “You’re actually in love.”

“Yes, dumbass.”

“With me.”

“Duh.”

“...Oh.”

And just like that, Stiles realizes what he’s just actually admitted to and all the oxygen gets suddenly sucked out of the room. The anger that propelled the words out of him leaves him in an instant, and he swallows audibly. Going from something like frenemies to telling the guy that he’s in love with him is probably not the way he should have handled this. Plus, come on, he’s _in love_ with Derek? _Seriously?_

...Crap. He’s in love with Derek.

Seriously.

“Stiles...” Derek starts but doesn’t continue.

Stiles slaps a hand over his eyes. “Oh my god, please, just leave me to wallow in peace. And if we could pretend this entire night never happened, I would be extremely grateful.”

Derek doesn’t say anything for a long time, and Stiles is too scared to take his hand away and open his eyes, so he just stands there like an idiot waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The other shoe turns out to be Derek’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, gently pulling his hand away from his face. Stiles cracks one eye open to find Derek now well inside his personal bubble.

“Um. Hi,” Stiles says smartly.

“Hi,” Derek whispers back, soft and intimate in a way that makes Stiles fight back a shudder. What the hell is going on? Is he being punk’d?

“So. I’m a little confused right now.”

“You’re in love with me.”

“Ugh, don’t make me say it again, I’m still recovering from the embarrassment of the first time.”

“It’s not a crush. You love me.”

“You rubbing it in my face is helping take care of that fact pretty quickly though.”

“I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s alright.”

Stiles chokes on his own tongue. “I don’t-- I mean-- Sorry, what? And also, _what_?”

Derek inches forward and raises one hand slowly up until it frames the side of Stiles’ face, fingertips ghosting against Stiles’ hair, pad of his thumb a whisper over Stiles’ cheek. “Loyalty to the point of idiocy happens to be a turn on for me.”

“Didn’t seem that way a few minutes ago,” Stiles throws back, breathy. Oh god, he’s fucking _breathy_. At least he’s still able to string full sentences together.

“A few minutes ago I thought you were just suffering from a case of misguided hormones. I was trying to be the bigger person.”

“Yeah, that never goes very well for you, does it?”

Derek smirks a little. “No, it doesn’t.” And then Derek’s other hand settles on Stiles’ hip, and he leans in.

A sudden pounding on the bedroom door has them both freezing--of-fucking-course it does--and then there’s his dad’s voice muffled through the wood. “Stiles?”

Stiles groans and wishes there was something other than Derek’s face to bang his head against. “Yeah, Dad?” he calls back.

“As heartwarming as your confession of love to a former murder suspect was, it wasn’t exactly _quiet_." Oh God. "So I’m going to need you to say goodnight to Derek now, in a manner that won’t make me want to reach for my sidearm, and then come on downstairs where you and I are going to be having a conversation.”

Stiles’ wide eyes snap up to look at Derek only to find the bastard snickering. Stiles scowls and smacks his shoulder. “I don’t know what you think is so funny about this. You’re the one he’s going to shoot.”

“But you’re the one that gets to have a ‘conversation.’ I’ll take a couple bullets over that happily.”

Derek takes a step back, out of reach. Stiles sighs. “My father, the cockblock.”

“Come by the loft tomorrow. We can talk about this more then.”

“Please tell me that by ‘talk’ you really mean ‘make out excessively.’”

One corner of Derek’s mouth quirks up slightly. “Depends on how your ‘conversation’ goes.” He starts to make his way around Stiles for the bedroom door, but Stiles grabs his arm to stop him.

“Wait, I--” Derek raises an expectant eyebrow, but doesn’t shrug out of Stiles’ hold. In fact, if anything he leans into it. Stiles cannot believe this is real life. “Before I have to try to define this for my dad, could you maybe give me a hint as to what ‘this’ is?”

Derek shrugs, looking a little awkward suddenly. “Let’s just say, that problem with loyalty you have? I might suffer from a similar affliction.”

“If you’re trying to tell me you’re just as much of an idiot as I am, duly noted. Also, not really a surprise.”

“What I’m saying is... Stiles, have you known me to get romantically involved with anyone in the last year?”

“No, but... Wait, are you saying that’s because of _me?_ ”

Derek shuffles his feet and averts his eyes. “I was never going to act on it. I didn’t think you’d ever--”

But Stiles surges forward and swallows the rest of Derek’s words with a haphazard kiss.

It’s actually a little uncomfortable? Turns out cutting people off mid-sentence with your mouth on theirs is not quite as smooth as it looks in the movies, but Stiles feels he should totally get points for enthusiasm if not technique.

Thankfully Derek gets with the program pretty quickly, takes Stiles’ face in both hands and maneuvers them until suddenly it’s not rushed and awkward anymore, it’s just... easy. And fucking amazing. It doesn't feel like either of them are even pushing forward of their own volition, but rather just letting themselves succumb to the other's gravity. Like every part of Stiles is falling into this single point where their parted lips meet.

Derek draws away first, but only enough to rest their foreheads together, his hands falling down to grip Stiles’ t-shirt over his collarbone.

“Wow,” Stiles breathes.

“Yeah,” Derek breathes right back, everything cloying and humid in the space between their mouths. 

“I’ve never actually done that before.” Stiles licks his lips and they almost hurt they’re so raw and hypersensitive.

Derek responds with a small, private smile, and it’s basically the most captivating thing Stiles has ever seen.

They disentangle slowly, reluctant but spurred onward by the knowledge that there’s probably a concerned father with a loaded weapon waiting for them in the hallway. Derek turns again to leave, but pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “By the way? There’s a reason you’ve been getting so many offers lately.”

“My unbridled animal magnetism?” Stiles smirks.

Derek snorts in amusement. It’s adorable. “People want what they can’t have. With Lydia, she never wanted you back and you knew it. You were never really ‘taken’ before.”

“Uh, I was pretty damn sure _you_ didn’t want me back either until about thirty seconds ago.”

“Maybe. But I get the feeling everyone else knew anyway.”

Stiles really does not want to consider the implications of that one. He’s starting to wonder if maybe all of his friends figured out his and Derek’s feelings even before they did and have been giggling about him behind his back ever since. He wouldn’t put it past them. They all look like they walked out of a teen soap opera, of course they’d have the requisite penchant for gossip and melodrama to go along with.

When Derek finally opens the door, Stiles’ father is standing right there, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at them both like he doesn’t know which lecture to break out first and which one of them to direct it at. It’s a familiar look, he gives it to Stiles and Scott practically daily, and Stiles takes comfort in that. That look doesn’t scream imminent homicide so much as eternal frustration with a side of begrudging acceptance.

“Sir,” Derek says, straightening.

Stiles and his dad simultaneously roll their eyes.

“I’ll deal with you at a future date, don’t think you’re getting off easy here,” his dad says, pointing a finger in Derek’s face.

Stiles bites back a mean laugh. Derek turns to glare at him. Stiles does the mature thing and sticks his tongue out at him.

His father sighs and mutters a barely audible, “Christ, they actually deserve each other.” Stiles blushes and he thinks he sees Derek’s ears go a little red. Ha. “Derek, I’m sure you can show yourself out. I need to discuss a few things with my son.”

Derek swallows and nods gamely, then disappears as quickly as is possible without giving away any supernatural tendencies.

The moment the front door shuts, Stiles’ dad levels a look at him that Stiles can’t read. “So. Derek Hale, huh?”

“I... Uh. Sorry?”

“You’re lucky I like you.”

“I do keep things interesting.”

His dad runs a hand through his hair and then throws his head back to glare at the ceiling. “Alright. Ground rules.”

Stiles immediately counts them off on his fingers. “Keep curfew, keep grades, keep hands above the waist. I get ‘em all?”

His dad’s eyes narrow at him. “How long exactly have you been thinking about this?”

“Long enough to know that I’m willing to follow the rules to have it.”

His dad’s gaze turns considering at that, and he’s quiet for so long that Stiles starts to fidget and contemplate exit strategies. Finally, he nods once, and there’s something that’s _almost_ a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, okay. Keep curfew, keep grades, keep hands above the waist. He needs to come over here at least every other week and pretend to be afraid of me for an hour or so while we eat dinner. I am going to be grilling the ever loving crap out of Scott for info every time I get the chance, so make sure the boy gets coached first. And if any of my deputies ever catch you and Derek ‘parking’: I don’t know you, never seen you before in my life.”

Stiles gapes a little. “Wait, you’re really okay with it? I kinda thought this would be more of a fight.”

His dad shrugs one shoulder. “I know you better than you think I do. Whatever fight this might have been, I don’t think I’d have won it. You’re too stubborn by half.”

Stiles laughs out loud, a little hysterical, feeling light-headed and, well, in love. _Stubbornly_ so. “Yeah,” he shakes his head, grinning, “it’s a problem.”


End file.
